Chapter 544

Yue Qianfeng suddenly appeared on the battlefield, exerting an immense impact on both sides' momentum and morale—especially for this region of Jiangnan, where Yue Qianfeng and his men's spirits surged violently.

Yue Qianfeng burst into loud laughter: "Hahahaha, Guanyi, Lord."

"He's become a Wu Gong?!"

"Hahahahaha, I knew it, I knew it!"

"This threshold could never hold him back—how old is he now?! Only twenty-two! A Wu Gong at twenty-two—unbelievable, utterly unbelievable!" Yue Qianfeng wiped blood from the corner of his mouth with a casual sweep of his hand, his eyes burning like crimson flames.

"Good, press forward!"

No words were needed to reorganize or adjust the battle formation.

The moment Yue Qianfeng appeared on the battlefield, everything changed naturally: his Lique Divine Spear flickered, the Golden-winged Great Peng's spiritual form let out a piercing cry, and without hesitation, it targeted Yuwen Lie.

Yuwen Lie had intended to challenge the first divine general of five hundred years ago.

But Yue Qianfeng's spear tip was overwhelmingly fierce; their spears clashed, one roaring like a mighty tiger, the other slashing like a golden-winged great peng—their spiritual forms' roars shook the air, as if stirring the entire battlefield into chaos.

Each clash sent out shockwaves strong enough to shatter and repel incoming crossbow bolts and arrows, rippling the air into visible waves of distortion, their might overwhelming.

He Ruo Qinhu's eyes turned cold—he sought to redirect his forces to join Yuwen Lie.

On the battlefield, he always judged the situation and made the truly correct choices.

Wielding a horse spear in one hand and a stolen long sword in the other, he charged across the battlefield, driving back Chen Wenmian and Xiao Wu liang, while pressing forward to tear through the lines and link up with Yuwen Lie, aiming to swiftly defeat Yue Qianfeng.

He Ruo Qinhu's gaze locked unblinkingly onto Yue Qianfeng on the battlefield.

In his line of sight, only this man existed.

His dragon steed galloped like a dragon, carving straight through the battlefield, his weapons raised, radiating the divine aura of his spiritual form—but just as he prepared to charge and join Yuwen Lie,

Ripples surfaced in the air, and from within them, golden-red flames surged upward.

Intense fire exploded into the corner of He Ruo Qinhu's vision, then, accompanied by a lofty, peerless battle-cry dragon's roar, a torrent of blazing fire rushed toward him.

The Crimson Dragon spiritual form reappeared on this battlefield.

Yue Qianfeng swung his battle halberd and axe in wide arcs, building momentum to press downward—he forced He Ruo Qinhu to abandon his left-hand sword, raise his horse spear, and block this peerless general's assault.

Such fierce strength!

The sudden outburst of fury-like power from Yue Qianfeng startled He Ruo Qinhu—his eightfold Heaven strength barely held the sharp edge of the attack, but no more than that.

He Ruo Qinhu prepared to strike down Yue Qianfeng.

Then came the sound of a piercing shot—he instinctively dodged.

A corner of his swirling protective aura shattered; golden-red flames flashed across his vision, leaving a clear, unmistakable trace—like a golden phoenix flicking its tail.

Li Li Zhaowen!

This arrow caught him off guard—he dodged it, but his helmet was knocked askew; he sensed two immense energies rapidly approaching from behind—Xiao Wu liang and Chen Wenmian—while Qin Yulong remained pinned down by the rest of the Fire Qilin's generals.

Four generals among the top ten—or destined to be.

Even He Ruo Qinhu, at ninth Heaven, could not easily overcome them.

Yue Qianfeng held He Ruo Qinhu's strike with both weapons.

Then he suddenly grinned, locking his weapons around the general.

He knew he could never defeat He Ruo Qinhu in single combat—but still, he raised his head and slammed it hard into He Ruo Qinhu's face.

Such a low, gutter-fighting tactic—like a thug or mountain bandit brawl—appeared on this battlefield, utterly inconceivable.

Even a ninth Heaven general's face was no harder than an eighth Heaven warrior's skull.

Especially since Li Li Zhaowen's arrow had knocked off his helmet.

Yue Qianfeng's headbutt sent golden stars flashing before He Ruo Qinhu's eyes, crooked his nose, and drew blood—this blow inflicted near-zero physical damage on a general.

But the spiritual humiliation was immense.

He Ruo Qinhu's rage exploded in an instant.

"Yue Qianfeng?!!!"

Yue Qianfeng sneered, his forehead bruised, yet stubbornly declared: "I, Old Yue, was once just a bandit driven into the hills. In this life, I admire only two men—one is Marshal Yue, who pulled me out of the wilderness."

"The other is Prince Ji Yanzhong."

"If the old prince hadn't taught me Wu Gong, trained me in weapon techniques, and told me the world was still unsettled—that a true man shouldn't spend his life as a thief—I'd have died long ago in that mountain ravine, my corpse long rotted."

Yue Qianfeng's eyes grew slightly red.

Like a furious beast, he glared at the general before him: "No matter what, your arrow ruined the old prince's body—he died by your hands. Today, I demand justice!"

Who killed Ji Yanzhong?

He Ruo Qinhu thought: Was it him and Yuwen Lie? Ji Yanzhong himself? Or the world? Perhaps all, perhaps none.

He no longer cared.

On the battlefield—what's the point of talking?!

"If you want revenge for that arrow, see if you've got the skill!"

He Ruo Qinhu roared, his horse spear trembled violently, releasing terrifying inner energy that forcibly pushed back Yue Qianfeng—man, weapon, and steed alike—then spun back and thrust, repelling Xiao Wu liang and Chen Wenmian.

Standing firm on the battlefield, he declared:

"Come, kill me!"

The core of the battlefield instantly split into three parts.

Qin Yulong was pinned down by Ye Chongdao, Zhou Xianping, Duan Qingyu, and six or seven other eighth Heaven generals—Qin Yulong's strength was similar to Yue Qianfeng's; though he firmly overpowered Duan Qingyu from the southwest, with Ye Chongdao and Zhou Xianping on either side, he could only hold his ground, unable to reinforce.

Four famed generals surrounded He Ruo Qinhu, locked in relentless combat.

The old general still fought with unyielding valor.

He held his ground without yielding, fighting with brutal dominance.

On the other side: Yuwen Lie and Yue Qianfeng.

They were similar in age, both wielding long spears, clashing back and forth with mighty, majestic force—the pinnacle of ninth Heaven.

The appearance of Yue Pengwu greatly bolstered the prestige of the entire Fire Qilin army.

But in the hearts of the three Divine Generals of the Kingdom of Ying, a sliver of shadow was spreading.

He said, the Qin Wang has proven the martial Dao legend?!

In other words, within Beicheng city, at this moment, the Qin Wang alone, at most aided by Beicheng city's military momentum, can hold back the Army God Jiang Su?!

Even though these were Divine Generals who had fought on battlefields across the realm, even though their hearts were clear and upright, and any stray thought would be cut down in an instant, discord still arose within.

The two armies set out.

Jiang Wanxiang and Sword God Elder Murong Longtu had their fortunes shattered in a single battle.

After holding on for several days, he ultimately passed away.

This route had already failed; being able to kill with a borrowed blade, to a certain extent reducing the Fire Qilin army's strength, and incidentally wiping out the noble clan forces of Zhongzhou and the Kingdom of Ying, was already the best possible outcome.

But Yue Pengwu's appearance intercepted the strategic objectives that General Yuwen and He Ruo Qinhu had been pushing forward in this direction.

This route's collapse was already a foregone conclusion.

And with the Qin Wang holding his own against the Army God, the Beicheng city route would likely be difficult as well.

Even the generals of the Kingdom of Ying knew that to defeat the Qin Wang and the Fire Qilin army, they could not afford to delay; they should have ended the battle swiftly. But even fighting with all their might, the plan still failed.

Where did the plan fail?

Was it that the Qin Wang, fierce and valiant, fought to the death to hold back Grand Preceptor Jiang Su, shattering the legend?

Or was it that the Master Jiankuang Mu Zi Yi, with a single long sword, exhausted all the romance and flair of the jianghu under heaven?

But on this battlefield, Xue Shenjiang was silent for a while; he rubbed his nose, thoughtful, then shouldered the Tiger Howl Heaven Battle Halberd and the Cloud-Shattering Heaven-Splitting Bow, and huffing and puffing, climbed back up the city wall.

Master Siming: "…………"

Elder Guan Shier: "…………"

The two tears that the Yin-Yang School Grandmaster and the Mohist elder had just shed were forcibly held back by Xue Shenjiang's sprawled-out climbing posture.

Xue Shenjiang scratched his head, seemingly sensing the awkwardness, and said:

"Ahem, uh, that's wonderful!"

Xue Shenjiang's tone was bright and breezy, as if nothing had happened at all just now.

"Hey, I'm back again!"

Silence, absolute silence.

Perhaps because of the violent sounds on the battlefield, like thunder rumbling, the silence here was especially conspicuous by contrast. Even Xue Shenjiang could hardly bear such silence, and said in a negotiating tone:

"Um, uh, the mood has already reached this point."

"How about I go down first, die a little, then come back up?!"

Elder Guan Shier's mouth twitched, and he said irritably: "Die a little? If your body shatters, this old man will have to rebuild it from scratch. Why not say something proper—how should we break the situation on this battlefield?"

Xue Shenjiang looked at the battlefield, his eyes bright, and said calmly: "Relax, the situation is already clear. In this battle, our defense has already won. Isn't it obvious?"

Elder Guan Shier and Master Siming exchanged a glance.

The Mohist's great elder, the foremost master of mechanisms; the Yin-Yang School's Grandmaster—both saw a sliver of bewilderment in the other's eyes. Xue Shenjiang lazily held up three fingers: "We have three victories, and they have three defeats."

"The Kingdom of Ying came bearing overwhelming momentum, striking while the iron was hot."

"But Jiang Wanxiang's fall has already broken that momentum."

"Even though these three men suppressed this news, kept the funeral secret, unwilling to affect the entire army's morale and momentum, the truth is the truth. What has happened is like a sharp sword, and it has ultimately severed the momentum in their hearts."

"A dragon without its head."

"At this point, this army of the Kingdom of Ying has lost its backbone."

"They cannot possibly fight us to the death here."

"This is our victory, and the Kingdom of Ying's defeat."

"What they are waiting for is merely pinning their hopes on Beicheng city, hoping Jiang Su can wear down that kid Li Guanyi, and, relying on Jiang Su alone to hold back Li Guanyi and Yue Pengwu, using the method of 【piece sacrifice】 to gain some advantage here."

"But with Yue Pengwu's reinforcement and Li Guanyi's breakthrough, this second breath of momentum was also broken."

"This is, the second strike weakens."

"At this point, no matter how unwilling they are in their hearts, they can only finish this battle and then retreat. But they will still fight on."

"There is still a fierce and valiant spirit in their hearts, supporting these men as they fight here. It must be said, truly a rare elite and loyal army under heaven—one that can still maintain fighting spirit in a situation like this."

"However, now is the third time."

"Strike while the iron is hot; the second strike weakens; the third strike is spent."

"The army's momentum is exhausted, morale is low. Even if united in heart from top to bottom, they can do nothing. Today, I shall take their 【commander】, take their 【momentum】, and with this one arrow, repel these three armies!"

Xue Shenjiang gripped the Cloud-Shattering Heaven-Splitting Bow, and the Bai Hu Dharma Aspect appeared.

He slowly drew back this divine weapon; the ancient, unadorned war bow hummed softly, emanating a ferocity like a fierce tiger hunting. Xue Shenjiang's battle robe billowed, his eyes bright as fire, focused intently on the battlefield.

As if gods and Buddhas, soaring above, overlooking the grim and murderous mortal world.

Only at this moment.

Only when his mouth was shut.

Did his body reveal, just a sliver, a bearing that belonged solely to the foremost under heaven.

When Xue Shenjiang released his fingers, the bowstring trembled and sang, like countless birds sweeping across the earth. Yan Xuanji—then he let out a long cry, his voice booming like a drum: "Jiang Wanxiang has already died by the Sword God Elder Murong Longtu's sword!"

This voice carried far amid the tearing whistle of the arrow.

In an instant, it swept across the battlefield.

If this sentence had been spoken during the 【strike while the iron is hot】 phase, at that time, Army God Jiang Su was invincible, not only holding the Qin Wang Li Guanyi at Beicheng city, but also tying down Yue Pengwu, one of the top Divine Generals under heaven.

This sentence would only have roused the Kingdom of Ying army's shared hatred and fury.

It would only have let this army, carrying recognition of their former sovereign, transform into an invincible army of grief-stricken warriors.

But now, first that vanguard army of noble clans died to the last man outside the Jiangnan city, then Yue Pengwu's reinforcement—strike while the iron is hot, the second strike weakens. Now, this sentence, spoken again, would produce a completely different effect.

Especially, this line was not spoken during a pre-battle rally to lift morale.

It was delivered on the battlefield itself, as a third crushing blow meant to crush morale.

The momentum of the Ying army froze in an instant; the doubts and questions accumulated along the march — why Jiang Wanxiang had not shown himself, and the like — surfaced one after another, layer upon layer, shattering the fighting spirit in their hearts.

The Sky-Shaking Bow of Rending Clouds loosed an arrow that pierced the clouds, crossing this grim, bitter-cold battlefield.

And at last flew past Jiang Wanxiang's banner.

General Xue's streaking arrow-light slowly dispersed in the air; accompanied by a thunderous crash, that banner — the great ink-blue dark-dragon banner that had stood for decades in the world, in the hearts of all Ying's people — tumbled over and crashed heavily into the surging tide of the battlefield.

Much like the morale of this Ying army itself.

General Xue tossed aside the divine weapon in his hand, strode in great strides to a massive war-drum set up atop the city wall, seized the drumsticks, and beat the drum with all his might; the drum's roar thundered out, spurring men onward. General Xue shouted in a clear voice: "Advance!"

The opponents here today are, of course, world-shaking adversaries.

But the Fire Qilin Army standing here—

When have they ever been ordinary men?!

They had come fighting from the Western Regions, the Southwest, Chen, and the Tujue—the Fire Qilin Army, once a mere band of three thousand wandering soldiers in its humble beginnings, had now, tempered through a hundred battles, become an undisputed elite force of the age.

And its commander, too, was without peer in his generation.

The pitched battle of this day lasted for several hours; General Xue's war-drum never ceased. The drum-sound, stirred by a strategist's killing intent and a war-general's bold valor, seemed to ring out within the heart itself, driving men forward.

After the great battle, it could not be called a great victory, but Yuwen Lie and the others ultimately led their army in retreat, leaving behind on the earth corpse after corpse, and weapons after weapons stained with blood, thrust into the ground; the wind swept past, its sound grim and mournful.

Even though the Divine General still had the heart to keep fighting—

Once something like army morale begins to crack and collapse, it is like an earth-dragon turning over, or a snow mountain collapsing — that momentum comes down in an unbroken cascade. One man can drag down a squad of fierce soldiers; ten men can drag down a hundred.

And their opponent was precisely the Divine General who had once been most adept at manipulating such army morale.

After the great battle ended, even old Master Siming felt his heart pound violently, overcome by a dazed sensation; gazing at this grim battlefield, he was slow to return to himself for a long while.

Such a great battle — and it was already over.

Such a great battle — and they had actually won.

On the battlefield, only the sound of breathing remained, and a thread of silence. He had expected General Xue to open his mouth again and crack some joke to lighten the mood, but at this moment, the Divine General who had shattered the momentum of three armies with a single arrow stood solemn and austere.

Both his hands gripped the heavy drumsticks, raised high.

Then, with all his might, he brought them crashing down.

Boom!

A single drumbeat rang out in all directions, as if to shake away the daze after the battle's end, to scatter the battlefield's grimness all at once, drawing countless gazes back instinctively toward the Divine General atop the city wall.

General Xue gripped the drumsticks in both hands, raised them high, then, solemn and imperious, shouted loudly:

"Wind!"

And so, after several breaths of silence—

Countless weapons rose, pointing at the heavens.

Then came the joy of victory, the resolve of having finally blocked the enemy's killing assault, the determination and the relief of having survived, the grief of fallen comrades — all those countless, tangled emotions gathered into a roar.

"Wind!"

"Great wind!!!"

Elder Guan Shier and old Master Siming watched as General Xue's drumsticks struck the ground; with solemn expressions, they cupped one hand in the other in salute, bowed deeply, and declared in clear voices:

"Gentlemen, how glorious!"

"We congratulate you all."

"A great victory, a grand omen!"

The wind blew fierce and grim, the bearing just as in those days of old — and so the foremost Divine General of five hundred years past, the God of War of that age,

Appeared here once more.

Elder Guan Shier and old Master Siming looked as if they had seen a ghost.

No — wait, this one was a ghost from five hundred years ago to begin with!

Truly, walk the night road long enough and you'll open a ghost's eye. After both sides had paid a sufficient price, this battle was briefly drawn to a close. After Yuwen Lie and the others retreated several dozen li, they recalled the words Jiang Wanxiang had spoken last, and all fell silent.

They had not expected it to be exactly as Jiang Wanxiang had said — that this campaign would likely fail to achieve its aim. And the three Divine Generals all knew that, having failed to conclude the war in a single stroke this time, from here on it would be Ying who held the disadvantage.

They had only rested two days when urgent intelligence suddenly arrived.

The report alone made it clear that a host of bandits led by Dou De had thrust like a sharp blade straight into Ying's interior. In ordinary times — if Jiang Wanxiang were still here — Jiang Wanxiang might have chosen to keep fighting.

But now, Jiang Wanxiang was already dead.

Precisely because, while this man lived, he had been almost the very symbol of Ying as a whole, his death dealt a tremendous shock and impact to this army.

At this moment, they could not allow both of Jiang Wanxiang's sons to die as well.

Dou De — that was the flame left behind by Yu Langwang.

A martial hero of the Eighth Heaven, who had used Yu Langwang's art of war to rally the wandering swordsmen of the jianghu. In the end, Yuwen Lie, He Ruo Qinhu, and Qin Yulong had no choice but to pull back. Yet at this moment, He Ruo Qinhu suddenly understood the question that had nagged him on the battlefield.

Where did we lose?

Was it in failing to see the jianghu of the Master Jiankuang, or in failing to see the resolve of the Fire Qilin?

No, Your Majesty…

The old general looked at the intelligence in his hand, sighed softly, and said:

"We lost because we looked down on the people of this world."

The great army marched home; the Fire Qilin Army stood garrison. After the violent clash, the world at last gradually settled into a brief calm. With the matter in Jiangnan concluded, the war outside Beicheng too slowly drew to a close.

After the grand army below suffered a strategic defeat—

For Jiang Su to keep fighting to the death would no longer have any meaning.

In Jiangnan, there is a city.

Within that city, there once lived an old man.

An old swordsman.

Now it was a zither, and a woman.

Beneath that great tree, Murong Qiushui held the zither in her arms. She was not, in truth, that sorrowful — yes, her qinxin was calm, because she had long known what manner of temperament her grandfather was, and what manner of swordsman he was.

For Murong Longtu, death was not an ending.

To die upon a sickbed — that would have been the regret.

Murong Qiushui had already learned to respect her grandfather's choice, and because of these years together, she knew that Murong Longtu had already passed through the leisurely years he had longed for most. She too gradually let go of some of her attachments — it was heartache, it was grief, and yet it was also a blessing, a steadfast peace.

In truth, many people worried about her, but when they saw this extraordinary woman, she remained as composed as ever, showing not the slightest grief, and only said: "Sad?"

"Grandfather got his wish. For a man of a swordsman's lineage, that is no sorrowful thing."

"How could the children of the Murong clan wear the tearful, simpering air of a weakling?"

"It would only invite laughter."

And so all were filled with admiration.

Only she still worried about that child.

She knew that the strategy here in Jiangnan, after Yue Pengwu's return, had already been settled in great measure. But Yue Pengwu's return meant that the most dangerous part of the battlefield had been handed over to one person.

The sole, absolutely irreplaceable rallying heart of the Fire Qilin Army.

The sole core of Tiance Prefecture.

Qin Wang, just as in days past, stood in the most dangerous place.

As the blade's edge, when the front-line Beicheng battlefield momentarily stilled, Murong Qiushui was greatly pleased, and let out a breath of relief. She was a person who did not believe in gods or buddhas, yet on that day she pressed her palms together, giving thanks to every god, buddha, and bodhisattva she knew of.

Today the garrison at Beicheng rotated back, and Qin Wang returned.

Murong Qiushui felt that she was very calm.

But when she learned that Li Guanyi had returned — that he had already returned — the woman who had been able to face Murong Longtu's passing with composure suddenly felt a crack split open in her heart.

It was as if the calm before had been only the floating ice of springtime.

Only, facing outsiders, facing the greater picture, she could not show her grief and sorrow; she could only stay composed, sealing her sorrow away in ice.

Some feelings can only be shown to the closest of kin.

The zither's strings did not sound. She knew Qin Wang had returned and went forth to meet him. But just as the great gate opened, Murong Qiushui parted her lips, instinctively raised a hand to cover her mouth, and then her vision blurred.

A crimson Fire Qilin-patterned battle robe swayed in the wind. The youth in armor walked over, his brow calm and steady, but Murong Qiushui's tears fell; with trembling hands she reached out and pressed them to Li Guanyi's cheek, to his temples.

A martial legend, unmatched through the ages.

Yet the youth's temples were already frosted with white hair.

He was the God of War — the God of War who commanded the momentum of armies and half the realm's three hundred years of dynasty's fortune and fate. To fight alone, to win a chance for Jiangnan, would in the end demand a sufficient price and resolve.

To bear the weight of those two words, "great peace."

It was not something that could be done merely by speaking them aloud.

To understand responsibility and its price is to have grown; to know at once the price that must be paid, and still press forward without the slightest hesitation — that is a true hero.

After Zhang Ziyong, by his own strength alone, slaughtered three thousand Iron Tie Futu, even with his immortal indestructible body-art, his temples had turned wholly white. Today, Qin Wang was the same.

Murong Qiushui reached out and brushed past Li Guanyi's white hair.

Li Guanyi held Murong Qiushui's hand, pressed that hand to his cheek, and said softly:

"Little cat has come home, Auntie."

He was the one who had dispatched all his divine generals to Jiangnan, entrusting the possibility of peace under heaven and of victory to his brothers-in-arms, locking himself outside Zhenbei Pass, remaining at the very front — Qin Wang.

He had said: share the same robe with you.

He had said: fight together!

He had said: I shall be the arrow's tip; he had said: we shall have great peace.

Outside Beicheng, locked in a death-grapple with the God of War, trading wound for wound, not yielding a single step — Li Guanyi's face showed a gentle smile, and he said softly:

"Auntie."

"Don't be afraid, don't be afraid."

His smile was warm, and then he winked his right eye, saying with a proud, easy air:

"I've eaten the elixir of immortality."

Murong Qiushui could not stop weeping.

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